


A not-so-bad habit

by HyFrLarry1224, WinchesterandAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blow Jobs, Cas literally finds Dean smoking a cigar and somehow sexualizes it, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, One-Shot, WinchesterAndAngel, humancas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyFrLarry1224/pseuds/HyFrLarry1224, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinchesterandAngel/pseuds/WinchesterandAngel
Summary: Cas finds Dean smoking a cigar.(SUMMARIES ARE HARD, OKAY? The actual story is MUCH better.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61
Collections: Destiel One Shots





	A not-so-bad habit

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a minute, hasn't it? Wow, I can't believe I'm finally removing this account from the shelf and dusting it off. It's good to be back, and I'm excited to start posting again!! Hope you enjoy this one-shot me and my lovely co-author threw together in a few days. @WinchesterAndAngel, I couldn't have done this without you. This entire thing was made possible because of her. Literally. Thanks, bub, for entertaining my barely-concealed insanity when it comes to writing. I appreciate you...

The impala rumbles into the garage of the bunker after three days of being on the road, leaving wet tire lines on the sleek cement floor. Mud caked the fenders and the bottoms of the doors and splattered up onto the side windows like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Three exhausted men silently climbed out of the muscle car after it parked. The eldest, Dean, trudging to the trunk and clicking it open to grab his and his younger brothers duffles. He grabbed one roughly and swung it into the taller brother's chest with a thump causing a small grunt to escape Sam’s lips.

The third, Castiel, bypassed the luggage pick up and headed straight for the door. He needed a shower and bad. He didn’t need them before as he could clean himself up with a snap of his fingers, as Angels do, but he was human now. No more gas in the tank. No more mojo, baby. He had to do things the hard way, or the more traditional way, more like. Having to do manual tasks took so much time and effort, he did genuinely miss being an angel at times. Majority of the time though, he was glad to not be a soldier anymore. He was a warrior still, which he was okay with, but he was his own general. He controlled his own destiny. He preferred that over anything.

“Shotgun showering first!” Dean announced after he slammed the trunk closed and swung his duffle bag over his shoulder. Castiel turned towards him. The elder hunter had a gash on his face leading from the inside of his right eyebrow and over the bridge of his nose, thin but angry. His hair was mussed, almost resembling a troll doll, and there were multiple holes and tears in his under shirt, flannel and jacket. Sam had similar injuries including a couple gashes on his face, a black eye, and a bandage wrapped around his left forearm which he was holding close to himself and slightly elevated. That shadow demon they hunted down in Louisiana really messed them all up good.

Dean obviously needed the shower more urgently than either Cas or Sam, yet the ex-angel couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose as he stretched his arm and felt the dried blood, not of his own, pull at his arm hairs. He was grimy, and stunk of death, but luckily remained unscathed, save for a limp and aching gut. Dean’s wound needed cleaning, he wouldn’t argue with that. 

“I’ll let you go second,” the youngest hunter chimed with a smile and a clap to Cas’ shoulder as he passed him. Sam, too, had blood and mud caked across his body like some splotchy painting; an imperfect canvas with his shoes trekking the mixture into the bunker and although he had wounds that needed cleaning, too, Cas was grateful for the opportunity and wouldn’t dare complain. It was rare he was graced with such kindness.

Dean, almost like a child let loose in a candy store, rounded the corner and disappeared from Cas’ line of sight within seconds. The former angel followed with a tired chuckle, his bones aching with an unfamiliar pain he was regretfully becoming all too acquainted with.

Within the hour, Cas was finally able to have his shower and clean off all the blood and grime that seemed almost tattooed into his skin. He also popped his suit, trenchcoat, and dress shirt into the laundry. Other than his usual get up, he didn’t have much else in terms of clothing. He opened a drawer in his dresser in his bedroom to find an old flannel that Dean gave him and a pair of denim jeans. He slipped into the outfit and haphazardly flattened down his hair in the small mirror hanging on the wall beside the bedroom door. Relatively happy with his appearance, he stepped out into the hallway and headed towards the kitchen. He walked around aimlessly, unsure of what to do with himself, for a minute or two before suddenly freezing in the corridor. 

There was a smell. An unfamiliar smell. It was smooth yet bitter, tobacco as a harsh undertone that burned his nose as he unwillingly stepped closer to the stench. For a moment, it drew Castiel back to a simpler time, when he was still so young and undisciplined; his grace frosting across his skin in bursts of sharp, electrifying power as it adjusted to the sudden confinement of his first ever vessel. 

The earth was soft beneath his bare feet, the air cool on his skin with the faint breeze drying his accumulated layer of sweat which left him feeling odd and sticky. Beyond the green field of tobacco, a wonderful substance one of the human’s informed him of, though he was still unsure of the entire point of smoking it- he could see the thick billows of smoke rising from a brick chimney. Humans were still so new to him then. He still had so much to learn, and to experience, yet it was one of his favorite memories. So simple, so perfect. 

And here, in the small confines of the underground bunker, an entirely different life was suddenly merging with this one and before he could talk his body off the ledge, he was approaching the library with his bare feet sticking to the floor, creating a god awful sucking sound. 

Rounding the corner and padding up the two steps into the war room, he steps closer to the library. He hesitated slightly when he saw a faint cloud float out from behind one of the short bookshelves blocking one of the alcoves on the right side of the room. He stepped up into the library and stopped at the end of said bookshelf, finding Dean sitting in a dark copper leather chair facing slightly away from him. The former angel spotted the familiar dark brown object in Dean’s fingers and he couldn’t help but watch the trail of smoke escape from the rounded tip and float up and disappear into nothing.

It’s lifted to his lips, holding it steady between his index finger, middle finger, and thumb. Cas watched as Dean’s cheeks hollowed and the cherry of the cigar flared red, illuminating like a smoldering ember. The hunter’s eyes are half closed, feigning transfixion on an open book on his lap though Castiel knew him well enough to know it was abandoned the second it was opened. With barely parted lips, Dean exhales a milky cloud of white smoke that disperses into their own distinctive tendrils that twist and curve, masking Dean’s face for a partial second and adding a depth of mysteriousness.

“You gonna stand there all day,” Dean’s gruff voice asks, calling him out, breaking Castiel from his transfix. “Or are you gonna come sit with me?” He waves a welcoming hand towards the empty chair next to him, towards Cas, and the man embarrassingly finds his shaking knees unable to move.

“I uh- I didn’t know you smoke.” Cas says instead, head tilting in curiosity. He’s always wondered what it would taste like, how it would feel to fill his cheeks with the harmless smoke, but as an angel the experience was always muted and unpleasurable. It tasted like less than molecules, and it always burnt his lungs. The temptation was there again, a dormant scratch he was just coming around to acknowledge.

A small chuckle slipped past Dean’s lips as he tapped the burnt embers off the end of the cigar into an ashtray, “I don’t really, but I can enjoy the occasional stogie once in a while.” He twisted his head and looked up at the frozen ex-angel. “Want one?”

Castiel swallowed and blinked at the hunter. He finally mustered up the urge to move and he stepped to the leather chair adjacent to Dean and sat down. As he sat, Dean reached for his zippo on the small table between the two chairs and relit the cigar, placing the tobacco filled stick between his lips and puffing a few times, allowing oxygen to flow through the leaves to the end and catching the fire in it’s hungry grip. 

Cas noticed Dean’s facial injury was cleaned up quite well. It definitely wasn’t as bad as it looked. A good handful of hours after the injury took place, it was now a thin pale line zig-zagging from his eyebrow to just over his nose, nearly half the length it was before.

Dean leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee and held the cigar holding hand out towards the former angel. Cas looked from the cigar, to Dean, and back to the cigar again, then brought his hand up and took it in his fingers. He carefully flipped it around so the cap was facing him. 

With one last glance to Dean, whose eyes now had a certain sparkle to them saying  _ ‘Go ahead, take a drag’  _ , he lifted the cigar to his lips and took a slow but short breath in, closing his eyes. The initial inhalation scratched down his throat before Cas could remember to just puff out his cheeks, and with tear pricked eyes he attempted to appear as unfazed as possible as he scrambled forward and passed the cigar back to Dean with shaking fingers, breath still held. 

Dean’s eyes danced with humor, but the hunter said nothing as the thick cigar was slotted between his plush lips. Cas attempted to breath out as slow as possible, chest and throat aching like nails had just scratched them raw- but in his attempt at being nonchalant, his body convulsed forward with loud and violent coughs racking his lungs. 

Dean’s laughing drew Cas upright into a sitting position, and the former angel used shaking hands to wipe the lone tear trailing down his cheek. “You’re not supposed to inhale it,” Dean said in a breathless chuckle, entire body shaking in his effort to reign in his laughter. It was a sick enjoyment to witness somebody painted once as invisible, a soldier of heaven, to be reduced to a coughing fit over a little cigar smoke. 

He immediately felt bad, knowing that the newly human angel was still getting accustomed to mortal life but he was so used to seeing him nearly indestructible, or so stoic that the common human qualities like needing him to pull the impala over because of car sickness or coughing up a storm from a mild cigar, just hits in a way that makes him chuckle out of uneasiness. Not only was it new for Castiel, but it was new for Dean too.

“I’m aware,” Cas grunted after a stale moment of silence, smoke influencing his voice down two octaves and adding the slow rasp that usually accompanied him in the morning. He flattened a palm on his chest, focusing on his shaky inhales, and licked his tongue across his teeth where a residual film of nicotine clung like an Invisalign. 

Castiel shuddered and swallowed thickly, a quick glance at the wall revealing it was inching closer to ten o’clock and he wondered if it would be rude to retreat back to his bedroom. So abruptly and crude, but he didn’t wish to experience the sharp sting of cigar smoke again- not that it wasn’t incredibly mesmerizing to watch the way Dean’s Adam's apple bobbed beneath his tan skin as he swallowed around a mouthful of smoke. 

“How is it that you’re older than most of the useless antique items around here that Sam fangirls over, but you’ve never tried a cigar?” The tilt of Dean’s head isn’t chastising, but rather Cas sees a genuine curiousness and he shifts in his chair, embarrassed. 

He lowers his gaze to his lap, where his fingers are pulling at the frayed hem of the flannel. “The opportunity has never came up,” he explains with a shrug, not bothering to mention that it has, in fact, been presented a time or two in his existence, and he’s tried it once, but never before has it been so tempting. Until tonight,with Dean. With the hunter who has granted Cas more  _ firsts  _ than anyone else possibly ever will. 

Crinkles appear by Dean’s eyes. “So, what, you’ve just been walking around doing ‘god’s work’ for…” Dean actually isn’t sure how old Cas is. One second, he walks and talks true to his title, true to his age, and another moment he’s asking Dean ridiculous questions like if tomatoes are fruit and if pancakes are an acceptable form of nutrition for every meal of the day. He’s a child trapped within the mind of a.. millions of years old, clueless, selfless idiot. Waving a dismissive hand, Dean continues. “However long you’ve been up God’s ass, and you’ve never been curious to try  _ more?” _

Cas can feel the shift in the air, the moment it went from honest curiosity to poking fun and while Dean wasn’t necessarily prodding too hard, it still made Cas squirm. He didn’t like to be reminded of his past mistakes, of how he’d blindly followed his father without a second's hesitation. Never granting himself free will, never daring to tug at his leash that didn’t allow him to explore beyond the perimeter set. Until Dean, Cas was just… walking around with no purpose other than the one bestowed upon him. Serving God and the great plan. He didn’t know what it meant to want  _ more.  _

“You already know the answer to that,” Cas says tersely, spine straightening until he’s left with a rigid posture. 

“I just assumed Meg would have corrupted your little angel-innocence. You played Pizza man with her, what was stopping you from puffing a few cigars?” Dean’s grin is crude, all teeth with his lips stretched far too wide- jealousy a thin veil shimmering around his words, around his posture, as he leaned forward and placed his left elbow on his right knee, bringing him a smidge closer to Cas. 

Cas’ eyes narrow, fixed on the ticking clock, watching as the big hand inches closer to the eleven. “Why would Meg smoke cigars,  _ Dean,  _ she was a  _ demon.  _ It wasn’t necessary.”

“Lot’s of things she did weren't necessary, doesn’t mean she didn’t do them.” Dean says with an innocent shrug of his shoulder, the tip of his cigar smoldering with a faint red nearly dimmed out of existence. “She took your virginity and that wasn’t necessary, was it? Doesn’t mean it wasn’t enjoyable.” 

Cas was up and out of his seat before Dean even finished speaking, anxiety spiking as it pushed his budding anger out of the way. “Goodnight, Dean,” and even upset with the man he couldn’t leave without a departure. It seems becoming human has made him weak in a way his grace never did. Before, he could just zap his way out of existence but now he had to focus on his shaky steps as he went to move around Dean, away from him and towards the door, towards safety. 

He didn’t get too far before fingers were wrapping around his wrist, warm and electrifying as the tingles licked towards his palm and had him closing his hand in a fist. “Wait,” Dean breathes, licking his lips and Cas is suddenly aware of the book now on the floor and the fact that Dean is watching him with warm, apologetic eyes- cementing him where he stood. “Oh come on Cas, I-I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry- sit down, please? I.. no more jokes.”

Cas’ stoicism was a carefully placed barrier between him and the harsh elements in the world. It was a control he erected the moment he returned to earth, the moment he touched Dean’s soul and felt it wither beneath his grasp. But here, with the man touching him with that careful consideration, aware enough not to allow his blunt fingernails to dig into the soft underside of his wrist, Cas felt that control slipping from his own grasp. 

Human emotions were hectic and overwhelming. He didn’t understand them in the way that Dean did, didn’t understand why his belly flipped at the sudden touch and why his knees buckled. He’s fought angels, and demons, and vampires- creatures not of this world, yet nothing has ever made him feel as weak as when Dean says his name. That much, he understood. 

“I-It’s getting late,” he wanted to say goodnight once more, that he craved his bed and the solitude of his room but the truth of the matter is; he wanted Dean to  _ ask  _ him to say. One carefully crafted plea and Cas would be his for eternity. 

Dean’s eyes shutter, a flicker from hope to disappointment before he settled on resignation. He wasn’t going to fight after all. “It is.” he acknowledges with a quick glance at the clock still chirping away on the wall. He still doesn’t let go of Cas’ wrist though, and the former angel can feel the impression of his fingers as they burn like a hot iron brand into his skin. “But maybe you could sit down? Finish the cigar with me? I’ll show you how to do it. I won’t laugh.”

And Cas supposes if he’s survived himself, the biggest challenge he’s ever had to face, he can face the embarrassment of one more hit from the cigar. He caves with little persuasion, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a reluctant smile. Soft and sweet. “I suppose I can do that.” 

Dean said nothing, his lips turned down at the ends with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, an effort to remain in control as calculated moves lift the cigar back to his lips. Without looking away, without removing his eyes from Cas’, he demonstrated how to take a drag off the cigar. His cheeks puffed with smoke, and when the cherry burned the brightest red Cas could feel his heartbeat accelerate.

“Like this,” Dean breathed his mouthful of smoke out, oblivious to Cas’ shallow breaths, and blinked up at him. “Here.” 

Cas swears he would sway if not for Dean’s grounding embrace still linked around his wrist, and he swallows thickly with a single nod. The air smelled faintly of alcohol, something sweeter than Dean’s usual scotch, and when Cas leaned in to grab the offered cigar from Dean’s hand, still not sitting, he spotted a nearly empty glass of flavored vodka left on the side table. He must not have noticed it before, too distracted by the rough pull of Dean’s presence. 

Dean watched him. Doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. He just watches; observes with quiet encouragement as Cas, questioningly, lifts the cigar to his lips with his heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears. A single nod, and Cas inhales, cautious now not to breathe it into his lungs, and carefully exhales. The pride that swells in his chest when nothing more than a quivered sigh escapes his lips with the puff of smoke is  _ all consuming.  _

“See?” Dean asks, eyes bright, and Cas  _ wishes  _ he could see what Dean saw. He would drag heaven down to its knees if he could just understand, for one second, exactly why Dean was watching him like that, prideful and intense, grip on his wrist unrelenting. “Not so bad, is it?”

Cas half-nodded, half-shrugged, wondering exactly why the heady head rush came from Dean’s smile and not the faint nicotine buzz he could feel blooming in his skull. In another world, he would be brave enough to ask why he was still standing here, prolonging their inevitable goodnight, just to smoke a cigar when he didn’t particularly like the flavor. 

A lick over his lips revealed the faintest taste of cherry vodka, lingering on the end of the tightly rolled leaves. And perhaps he judged the flavor too prematurely, because he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth just to get one more taste of what he can only describe as Dean. 

“I don’t think I did it right,” he lies. Blatantly lies, right to Dean’s face, and if that’s not a rush in itself then surely the slow drag of Dean’s eyes down to his lips is because Cas feels like he’s suddenly flying despite his wings being long gone. 

“No?” Dean asks, voice gruff. He stills for a moment, and Cas can feel his thumb twitch across his knuckles. “I could-” he cleared his throat and looked towards the darkened entryway to the hall. “I could show you?”

Cas takes a second to consider it, the air between them stagnant, and allows Dean to marinate on the offer before nodding. “I would like that.”

His eyes flicker to Cas, and he looks surprised. “Yeah?” Then he seems to school himself, reigning in his unleashed reaction, and clears his throat once more before taking the dimmed cigar from Cas’ fingers. “I mean- okay, yeah. We can-uh, let me, uh-” he squeezes Cas’ wrist one more time, just for reassurance, before he drops it and before Cas can miss the warmth of his touch Dean is standing in one fluid motion, with the grace of a properly trained hunter, and he’s crowding his space. 

Something dark passes over his eyes, and before Cas can ask what he’s doing he mutters: “Stay still.” and Cas does, he stays perfectly still. His arms hung at the sides of torso, and his hands began to shake even though he’s not cold. From this close, toe to toe, Cas is allowed to watch as the lighting from the single lamp in the corner of the room casts the shadows of Dean’s eyelashes onto his cheekbones as the hunter glances down at their feet before claiming Cas’ gaze. 

Dean reaches out and places a hand on Cas’ upper arm, steadying the man who was apparently swaying in place, and it unwittingly causes a cataclysmic reaction. The warmth of his hand on Cas’ shoulder, seeping beneath the thin material of his flannel shirt, makes Cas’ heart swell in his throat- suddenly only existing only for that touch which feels like a current, a shock, the faintest impression of calluses ridging across Dean’s fingers. 

His breath catches in his throat. 

Cas doesn’t actually know what  _ help  _ means, but when Dean leans in closer and he gets the undiluted scent of vodka and smoke heavy on Dean’s breath, he can’t bring himself to question it. 

He’s hyper aware of what’s going on as Dean shifts his weight from foot to foot, attempting to find the perfect positioning as he takes a drag from the cigar, head tilted away from Cas, but the former angel can still feel the warmth emitting from the end of the cigar close to his jaw. He can’t help but stare longingly up at the taller hunter, watching as his stubbled cheeks hollow out as his lips close around the cigar. The former angel’s blue eyes catch the lamplight just enough to make them glow and sparkle.

The moment between them extends on for an eternity with Dean poised in front of his face, positioning open and inviting, with his head still tilted in that way that gives Cas the impression of Dean attempting to find a way to finally piece together the ragged puzzle pieces. 

And just when Cas thinks he’s figured it out, the idea of  _ more,  _ Dean brings his lips so close to his and just  _ hovers.  _ “Cas?” Dean asks after a moment, and his voice, like Cas’ earlier, has been taken hostage by gravel. 

The formulation of words seems nearly impossible, his brain short-circuiting as his blood responds to Dean’s proximity and- like when he was a human last, he feels positively  _ drunk.  _ So instead, he inhales through his nose and hums out a soft: “Yeah?”

He feels.. There’s something here that is vibrating with tension; something that, for the first time, isn’t coming solely from him. It’s an odd feeling.

“You,” a beat as Dean shuffles impossibly closer, “Should get better at lying.” Cas’ eyes widen, cherry vodka a strip across his tongue, and he’s afraid Dean is going to pull it all away from him when the hunter pulls back with a sheepish, knowing grin. 

"I-  _ Dean,”  _ Cas huffs. He feels liquid heat coat his skin wherever Dean’s gaze lands, which it seems is everywhere. “I’m sorry.”

His tongue pokes out from between his teeth, an oddly endearing boyish grin curving his mouth. “Should’ve just asked for it.” the unspoken,  _ I would give you anything you ask for,  _ hangs heavy in the air, but doesn’t go over Cas’ head.

He takes another drag from the cigar and moves in so quickly Cas doesn’t have the opportunity to respond, or even  _ think  _ of responding, before he can feel the brush of Dean’s lips across his own and without a moment's hesitation or consideration, he parts his own and grants Dean an unspoken permission.

The hunter’s body sighs in a way his occupied mouth can’t, and his shoulders slump forward the moment plush lips press against Cas’. Cas swallows his ‘hmph’ of surprise and responds to Dean’s gauging soft, slow exhale by inhaling cautiously.

And just like that, it’s over. 

Dean pulls away far too soon, smoke still escaping the seam of his lips, and Cas is left to exhale the ghost of an inhale, the  _ impression  _ of smoke leaving his lips. His eyes, which he doesn’t remember closing, snap open and lock with Deans. 

His jaw clenched tight. “See?” he asks, an echo of his former prompting. His voice is guttural. His stare is dark. “You’re a pro.” The side compliment is violently flattering, and Cas feels it like a form of praise so intense it hurts his stomach. His ears and neck burn, and he can only imagine how splotchy his cheeks look in the low lighting.

He breaks away, and Cas sighs a plaintive sigh and watches him circle the chair and drop the cigar in the ashtry next to his empty glass. “You pulled away,” Cas says, breathless, and he doesn’t mean to sound as whiny as he does- as desperate for more as he sways towards Dean, towards his warmth, and is met by a cold draft. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

Dean’s eyes narrow, and the realization of that look crashes into him at a high-speed impact. He’s been looked at like this before. This isn’t new to him, none of it. Not the drag of lips of the heady head rush that came with sharing his breath with another person; but he never thought Dean… That  _ Dean  _ of all people would look at him like  _ that. _

It was a predatory sort of look. The one Meg gave him that night in the corridor, when Cas shoved her against the wall and put to use his new-found knowledge and skills gifted to him from watching the pizza man. Only now, as Cas regards Dean with the same heat, he can feel something clench in his core that hadn’t been present with Meg. Something that had been missing- no,  _ repressed.  _

It feels crucial to acknowledge it. To bring it to focus, but he can’t bring himself to form it into words; to breath life into it. Not when everything was on the line. “Cas,” Dean says, and it sounds like a warning he has no intention of heeding. “I think you should go to bed now.”

Emboldened, he takes a step forward and rocks back on his bare heels. “Why? You didn’t teach me anything.”

Aggravated, Dean’s palm digs into his eye-socket so hard Castiel feels sympathy pain and winces. “Y-You don’t… I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

“I’m not-” Cas huffs and looks away, frustrated. “I’m not naïve, Dean. I-I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

The hunter lifts his gaze to Cas, his jaw clenching momentarily. “Cas, I-”

“I’m not  _ asking _ .”

Dean freezes. He can feel his heart beating in his ears, thumping against his temples as if it’s trying to bust out of his skull. The tension in the room got denser, and the look in Cas’ eyes...if looks could kill Dean would be exploded and splattered on every surface in this damn library. Even now that he is human, Cas can still tap into the intimidation that he possessed when he was an angel, and it is just as overwhelming as it was back then. 

Cas sucks his front teeth, tongue flattened against them, and arches a singular eyebrow at Dean’s silence. He accepted the man’s hesitation, understood his reservations, but he  _ refused  _ to take his silence as an answer when it was clear Dean wanted  _ something.  _

“Cas,” Dean  _ chokes  _ on his name, a plea hidden in the rasp. 

“ _ Show me,”  _ it was said so quietly, Dean could easily pretend he didn’t hear it. He could mask the request with a simple cough and Cas wouldn’t ask it again. But he doesn’t. 

He wrinkles his nose in deliberate consideration, drawing the moment out for a heartbeat- then another, until finally; “I don’t know if I can.” 

It was the closest Dean has ever come to  _ baring  _ himself. A wall trembled at his words, and crumbled the very moment Cas felt the front of his knees hit the chair, blocking his path in his attempt at getting closer. 

“Dean…” Cas’ voice was barely a whisper. He kept his gaze on the hunter as he slowly stepped around the chair, softly dragging two fingers over the worn leather of the top rail. 

As he stepped closer, Dean’s back stiffened but he kept his gaze down at the floor. Dean never felt nervous in a situation like this, but anxiety bubbled up in his stomach. This moment was so different compared to other encounters he had. 

The former angel shuffled closer until they were toe to toe and the other man's presence was impossible to ignore. He felt the soft graze of fingers touch his forearm and slowly slide up past his elbow and start to fiddle with the rolled flannel there.

A sudden shiver shot down his spine as a warm breath was felt on his jawline and he squeezed his eyes shut. His brain was completely blank. How could he think of anything else when you have someone literally breathing down your neck?

There was a shuffle of a foot against the floor and Dean’s eyes blinked open and he lifted his gaze to meet with half lidded fluorescent blue orbs mere centimeters away from him. He couldn’t stop himself from stealing small glances at the former angel’s lips. The ones he was just kissing moments ago, but he’s already forgotten the feel and taste of. The need to feel that again was almost uncontrollable. The want that drained through his whole body, down his arms and to his fingertips and the need to do something about it was taking over. He didn’t know how much longer he could last.

Castiel was the complete opposite. He didn’t want to hold back. His hand came up and rested on Dean’s shoulder and drifted over his collarbone allowing his fingers to graze his neck and his thumb to trace the bottom of his jaw. Their breaths were bouncing off one another, as if to recreate the activity before. 

The hunter could feel moisture build up around his mouth from the hot breath. He licked his lips just as the silence was broken with a soft whine.

“ _ Please… _ ”

And like a rock salt bullet shooting out of a shotgun, Dean was on Cas like his life depended on it. He wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s waist and pulled him close, slamming their bodies together as they stumbled towards the table in the middle of the library. Their kisses were desperate and messy and Cas’ hands were in Dean’s hair, gripping tightly.

Their feet stopped as the back of Cas’ legs hit the table and Dean grabbed the back of his thighs and lifted him up onto the table, kicking chairs to the side out of the way. He pulled Cas close to the edge of the table so his legs could wrap around his waist and Dean could really feel him.

Cas’ forced his hands to leave Dean’s hair and drift down his chest and over his stomach until he found the hem of his tshirt and he slid his hands underneath the soft fabric, allowing the palms of his hands to explore his soft skin. He felt Dean’s abs tighten at the attention and Cas’ let out an airy chuckle but was rudely interrupted by Dean deepening the kiss so he took his hands higher and flicked at his nipples with his thumbs.

Dean’s breath immediately caught and their mouth separated with a pop. With their foreheads resting against each other, they sat there for a moment, just taking the moment in. The tension in the room from earlier was gone and what was there now was something neither of them had ever experienced before. It’s hard to put a name to it, but it was...different. Good, different. They couldn’t dwell on it now, but they had all the time in the world to bring it up. There was no rush.

Dean cut the moment short when he started to drag his hand up Cas’ denim clad thigh and hooked his finger in one of the belt loops. Cas’ tightened his legs around the hunters waist and with Dean pulling, he slipped closer to him, heat hitting heat. The sounds that came out of both men were almost animalistic. The guttural groan from the hunter and the breathy whine from the former angel were practically harmonic.The two sounds fitting so well together, it was unbelievable.

With one more deep kiss, the hunter’s lips made their way over Cas’ rough chin and jaw and fell to Cas’ neck and he hid his face as he latched onto a spot just at the curve of his shoulder, biting lightly but enough to produce a small sound from the smaller man’s throat.

Castiel closed his eyes against the attack, swollen bottom lip captured between the sharp points of his cuspid teeth as he focused on the wet, smooth drag of Dean’s tongue across his sensitive, bitten raw skin. There was enough of a suction, just the slightest amount of pressure, and he could  _ feel _ as each blood vessel beneath his skin popped and visually branded him with Dean’s Mark. 

That was what set him off. The  _ idea _ of belonging to Dean in  _ any  _ way _.  _ His hands roved over Dean’s body, across his shoulders- down his back and back up. Desperate, greedy, aimless. Searching for more, for anything, and being met with fistfuls of scratchy clothing. 

Then Dean insistently drew his arms from around Cas, strong hands reaching behind him to grasp each of Cas’ wrists, to remove them from his own skin as he brought their hands forward and up and above Castiel’s head. It was the drag of chest against chest, bumping and sliding as Dean  _ stretched _ over them, the presence of his proximity lulling Castiel an inch backwards, then another, until Dean’s silent persuasiveness ended with his arms pinned above his head and his back flat against the table top. 

Breathless, blue eyes caught Dean’s before they flicker away, following the path of hands now constricting his with determination. The fingers circled them like manacles, so much tighter than any bounding Cas has ever experienced, and with a questioning tug Dean was ordering him with a squeeze not to move. 

He dug his fingernails into the soft padding of his palm and nodded, holding his breath. 

Daring himself to take a peak, the smallest of looks, he moves his eyes to look down their bodies as Dean pauses, weight shifting, adjusting until more of him is spread out on top of Castiel, their bodies lining up from groin to chest. His breath is expelled from his lungs at the sudden grind of Dean’s cloth groin against his own, creating the sharpest bolt of pleasure in his stomach. The friction caused Cas’ body to slide against the slick wood underneath him so he flipped his hands to grip the edge of the table, steadying him.

The hunter paused momentarily and gazed at Cas’ decision. He watched the ex-angels biceps flexed and strained against the flannel fabric and pull at the seams as he held on like a vice, and he couldn’t help but almost salivate at the sight.

He saw the rest of Cas’ flannel shirt stretching over his chest so he started to unbutton it slowly. Almost painfully so. He started at the bottom button, ghosting his fingers over the exposed skin between the ridden up shirt and the waistband of Cas’ jeans causing him to shudder and his stomach to tighten.

“Dean…” he gasped, “Why must you-”

“Shh…” Dean hushed him. He kept working on the buttons, taking his time carefully slipping each one out of each corresponding clasp. As he finished with the last two top buttons, he came up for another kiss but this one was soft, gentle, and safe. Just on the cusp of a peck. Dean wove the edges of the shirt between his fingers as he slipped it off Cas’ chest but not having him take it completely off.

The hunter made his way down Cas’ body, his hands grazing over his chest and down his sides to his hips. He stepped down from the table softly. He never broke eye contact with Cas. Not once. It was physically impossible to look away from those sky blue eyes that were boring into him, into his soul and lifting him. They were they’re own little world and he wanted to know every curve and junction. Every little nook and cranny of the body that he’s seen cut up, mangled, and destroyed beyond recognition over and over again, but still perfect. He wants to know every scar, what the story is behind it.

He takes hold of the top button on Cas’ jeans but stops.

With his lips fallen open and his breath falling out in small huffs, Cas knots his eyebrows at Dean. Why did he stop? What is he thinking about?

His curiosity didn’t last long when he saw Dean place his hands on the table on either side of Cas’ hips and grabbed the denim above the button in his teeth. With one swift movement, he tilts his head to the right, breaking eye contact, and the button pops free from it’s captor. He then lips the zipper, catches it in his teeth and pulls it down.

Cas’ eyes rollback as he feels the sharp metal of the zipper slide down. Whatever he just saw with his own two eyes was so overwhelming to him, he almost lost himself right there. 

Wet, warm suction on the sharp angle of his hip-bone draws a moan from Cas’ lips, the tongue trailing up his torso and god, oh  _ god,  _ Dean licks into his navel before puffing a cool gust of breath over it and Cas’ head was swimming, racing, dizzy and drowning. He lets out a shaky breath, his head falling back against the table with a resounding thud, and gave up the tightly-coiled control.

And then, his pants were gone.

Peeled down his legs with care, Dean’s warm fingers followed in the wake of missing denim until finally his overheated skin was painted with goosebumps. “Do you trust me, Cas?” 

Cas blew out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head because  _ did he really even have to ask?  _ The answer was there, in the form of Dean’s palms pressing against his thighs, holding him down in place, as a sweat slick hand stroked a trail up his side. It was there, in the firm but soft press of Dean’s lips below Castiel’s ear after he climbed back up on the table; his warm breath tickling the most sensitive parts of his body, sending spark after spark down to electrify his live-wire spine. The trust existed in their simple existence; was found in the roundness of Castiel’s cerulean blue eyes as he smiled up at Dean with that lopsided, imperfect smile. 

“With my life.” It was nearly painful how true that was.

The hunter regarded him with guarded eyes. He looks stunned by the admittance, like he can’t possibly fathom Castiel- the once angel who would have started the apocalypse  _ for him,  _ could trust him that sincerely. The look was heated and dark, overwhelming. 

In that moment, he was giving himself over to Dean. The hunter who was placing grinning kisses into the soft padding of Castiel’s stomach, his movements playful yet overwhelming. His stomach was smouldering with heat, driving him towards the urge for more, to seek more, but instead Castiel simply drew his legs up, bumping Dean’s side with his knee, and planted both of his heels on the table.

Dean seemed to catch on to what he was doing, what he was intending to do, and bit back a grin. Cas was grateful for the man’s experience, because while Dean was running, confident and experienced, Cas was stumbling with fumbled movements and  _ screaming  _ inexperience as he awkwardly grips at Dean’s shirt then, driven on a little courage, slides his arms up higher to wrap around Dean’s neck, to toy at the hair at the nape of his neck and relish the muscles tensing and jumping beneath his feather-light touch. 

Cas took a quavering breath and, removing his arms around from Dean’s neck, pushed up on his elbows. There- he  _ has  _ to do something. Even if it’s simply watching as the hunters face contorts with calculative brows pinched over a wrinkled nose. He brings his right hand up, and tenderly caresses Dean’s jawline with his index knuckle, then runs the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. The hunter presses his tongue between his lips, just missing the digit as it passed by, and then he’s moving. His fingers were firm but slippery, sliding fluidy into the crevice between his legs, smoothing up the inside of Cas’ thighs. 

He knows exactly where to touch without being told, understands Castiel’s body with an experience never once gifted to him before. It’s light but firm, insistent but cautious. With his jaw slack and his eyes half lidded, Cas’ body was thrumming as he struggled to keep still. Dean’s heated cock strained hard against the confines of his jeans, and Cas rocks against the motion; his own cock responding by drooling cowper's fluid into his boxers. His shoulders ache and give out and his upper back hits the table top with a thump.

Dean drops his head, watching what he is doing between their two bodies, and he feels Cas plant his fingers in his short hair and lightly scratch his scalp with his blunt nails. The hunter slips his thumb under the waistband of Cas’ boxers and pulls them down, Cas lifting his hips just slightly to help them slide down easily, and Dean immediately takes hold of him. The corner of his mouth twitching at the sound of Cas gasping and a deep groan rattles his throat. 

Dean starts to move his hand, pumping up and down, every second time coming up and flicking the tip with his thumb. He thrived off the movement happening underneath him. Cas unable to stay still, his hands have returned to gripping the edge of the table above his head. Obscenities started falling from Cas’ lips, hitting deep in Dean’s gut. He’s never heard the man say anything worse than ‘ass’, so the pained trail of ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ spilling through his teeth lit a fire in him that he hadn’t seen in a long time. Years even.

He took no hesitation to let the angel go, slip off the table, and get his mouth on him, instantly going deep and burying his face in between Cas’ legs. Dean’s gag reflex was non-existent, thank goodness and it made the experience way more enjoyable.

The sudden switch from hand to mouth on Cas absolutely sent him. A slick tongue dragged up on him and twisted around the tip before lips closed around him and sucked. Cas’ back arched stiffly up off the table and he gritted his teeth. He buried his face into his left bicep, putting pressure against his right eye until he saw white. 

Cas let go of the table and his hand flew back down to Dean’s hair, gripping tight. Dean leaned into the touch but Cas had other plans. He started to guide Dean, pulling his head up so he was almost completely off him, then pushing him down fully. If this was anyone else, they would be struggling and choking and sputtering, probably even stopping but Dean was more than happy to oblige. To be controlled by one of the most powerful entities in the universe in something this intimate was an honour in Dean’s books. This was something you earned with respect and loyalty.

Cas could feel the edge coming closer, pressure building up in his gut and his chest heaving. A moan erupted from Dean’s throat and the vibrations shot into Cas like electricity. With every pump of Dean’s mouth a cry fell from the former angel’s lips, each one getting louder and more desperate as he felt himself get closer and closer.

The sharp stubble dusting Dean’s chin rubbed Cas’ inner thighs raw, had him moaning as he writhed and arched off the table, craving more of the burn while his hands also desperately pushed at Dean’s head- attempting to ease the sensation created by Dean sucking  _ and  _ nipping. 

Cas has never.. He’s never experienced something like this. Not ever like  _ this.  _ He’s had sex, and he’s recieved sloppy kisses and drunk grinding. But nothing could ever compete with this, to the drunk, languid lick of Dean’s tongue up the underside of Cas’ cock, tracing the veins, teeth bared to nibble along his shaft until he was swallowing the man whole again. He was overstimulated, driven to the edge, to the brink, before he was brought back down by Dean’s hands opening wide at the curve of his side, brushing his nipples, tracing his ribs, the other wrapping tightly around the base of his cock where his mouth couldn’t quite  _ reach.  _

The sudden sensation of Dean humming around his cock was delicious, felt like an impossible itch finally being scratched, the feeling of a part of Dean  _ wrapped  _ around him so solidly was just as dizzying as Cas could have imagined. It was with the sensation of completeness, of belonging, that his chest heaved with a startled sob. 

“Dean-” he warned, desperate, pleading- unaware of if he was asking for  _ more  _ or for Dean’s mercy. He pushed the hunter down on his cock, felt him inhale sharply from where his nose was buried in Cas’ pubic hair, and then he was pulling relentlessly at his hair. Sharp, jerking tugs. “Please.”

“You’re okay…” Dean’s baritone rasp cut into the heat of their bodies as he stopped momentarily, “I got you…” and he returned to his task, determined to finish what he started.

The reassurance seeped into Cas’ pores and into his heart and threw him into a world of bliss. Contentment washed over him as heat pooled in his stomach and with one last draw of Dean’s mouth and the slight scratch of teeth, Cas’ yelled out as his lower back shot off the table and his fingers pulled hard on Dean’s scalp, stars invading his vision blinding him.

Dean worked Cas through the orgasm, swallowing every drop of him. The pull on his hair was a dull sting but the pain motivated him to keep going, to help Cas for as long as needed. To satisfy him in every way he needs. 

Cas’ hips bucked, shoving him farther down the hunter’s throat until his muscles started to loosen up, the grip on his hair disappearing. Dean finally brought his lips up and off Cas and sighed, exhausted, and rested his head on the inside of the smaller man’s thigh, his eyes closed and jaw slack.

He cracked his eyes open and nearly gasped at the sight in front of him. Castiel laid there, his chest heaving as droplets of sweat slid down his slick skin and into the now soiled flannel that was crumpled up underneath his shoulder blades. His hands were above his head, no longer gripping the table, and his bent arms framed each side of his head. 

With a swallow, Dean grunted as he climbed back up onto the table and rested beside the former angel's body, his eyes stuck on him like glue. He watched as his adam’s apple bobbed with every breath, and sweat caked his black hair against his forehead.

Cas, with bones that felt like liquid; weighing him down like lead weights tied around each limb, made to move. To pull himself up and over, to return the favor to Dean who was still very obviously straining against his jeans, button nearly popping, but a hand was pressing against his shoulder the moment he tried to move. 

“Just- just stay like that, just for a minute,” Dean panted in a voice so low, so thick, it reminded Cas of crystalized honey dripping from a honeycomb. Smooth, slow, languid. It was apparent he was in no rush, no hurry to get anywhere, and Cas didn’t even try to protest. 

He testingly flexed his toes instead, found the lower half of his body was still numb, and settled on twisting his body so he wasn’t sitting up, but he also was now angled towards Dean with his knees brushing the side of Dean’s thigh. The man’s pupils were dilated, his lips swollen and cherry red. Rumbled shirt and messy hair were proof of Castiel’s restless touching, and Dean’s breaths were ragged; chest heaving. 

But he was still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester. 

“I,” Cas licked his lips, finding a tingle of vodka caught in the crease, and shuddered. “I want to help you,” he finally said, a fine tremble now starting in his legs as his body regained feeling, nerves heightened and raw. 

Dean smiled softly, so softly, and nuzzled his face at the juncture of Castiel’s neck, placing a chaste kiss below his ear, pausing there to inhale through his nose, to breath in Cas’ sweat with the sharp cut of soap still clinging to his skin. Then he rests his head against the former angel's shoulder, showing absolutely no intention of moving. “You can,” he reassured, words muffled against Cas’ shoulder, his fingers drawing an unknown pattern into Cas’ knee. “Just… let me enjoy this.”

So, Cas does. Patiently. He listens to the clock chirping on the wall, inching closer to midnight now and he isn’t sure how they’ve managed to lose track of time like that, so quickly- so effortlessly, but he also knows better than to question it. Smoke clings to the air like vaporized spurts of perfume, reawakening from it’s slumber with every gentle breeze. 

He’s not sure he can ever think of Cigar’s again without remembering the itch of Dean’s facial hair against his inner thighs, the feeling of his mouth wrapped around his cock- his words of affirmation twining around Cas’ soul until all he can breath, and see, and hear is  _ Dean.  _ It’s become an increasingly known factor that every single one of Cas’ most memorable moments, have been infiltrated by the hunter. Stolen and tainted, but he wasn’t complaining. 

He would never complain. 

Because when it comes to Dean Winchester, Castiel was selfish.

So selfish that when Dean finally granted him permission to roll over, to enclose him with his legs as he straddled his lap, Cas didn’t waste the opportunity. He was kissing and licking his way across Dean’s body, removing every piece of clothing his hands could touch until he was panting into Dean’s neck, hand working over his cock, pulling moans and deep groans from his lips as the former angel tried with his entire being to suck his soul out of his body. 

And if he placed a delicate kiss on the gash on Dean’s eyebrow, and another on the curve of his nose, the hunter didn’t call him out, didn’t even question him when his lips lingered for a heartbeat or two too long. 

He’s never seen Dean so out of control, so completely wrecked as he claws at the table top- etching into the wood the beginning of their story as his nails leave ridges. He brought him close to the edge over and over, only to slow everything down, calm him until he was boneless and crying for more like Cas once had. Then he was bringing him back to the heights of ecstasy again, coaxing one more moan, one more grunt, one more carefully crafted plea of: “ _ Cas,”  _

If Dean said his name like that, so many years ago, Cas swears he would have ended up in the mental hospital far sooner. 

With a soul-deep groan, the strength Dean kept tightly-coiled unraveled, snapping as he was suddenly arching into Cas’ touch, matching his pace with measured thrusts upwards until he was just  _ fucking  _ into Cas’ lax hand, and the former angel let him. Didn’t stop him or slow him. He instead set back on his heels, watching with half-lidded eyes as Dean desperately clung to coherentism, teeth ground and skin humid. 

“You know,” Cas finally said when he felt Dean’s body tensing beneath his own, arching like he was attempting to reach heaven with Cas’ body hindering his wishes,“I think I like cigars.”

Dean clucked with a startled laugh that smeared into a high-pitched groan as he came, came all over them both, the slick heat shooting over Cas’ fingers and smearing down Dean’s shaft as he used it for lubrication, keeping the pace steady to work him through his orgasm. 

“Yeah?” Dean panted, eyes closed, swollen lips smiling, every inch of him hypersensitive now with Cas still pulling lazily at his softening cock. “I think I do, too.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
